Passages from Poetry

A sailor's love for the sea has fear in it; landsmen never understand.

We men hat go down for a livin’ in ships to the sea—We love it a different way from you poets that ’bide on the land.We are fond of it, sure! But, you take it as comin’ from me,There’s a fear and a hate in our love that a landsman can’t understand.Oh, who could help likin’ the salty smell, and the blueOf the waves that are lazily breathin’ as if they dreamed in the sun?She’s a Sleepin’ Beauty, the sea—but you can’t tell what she’ll do;And the seamen never trust her—they know too well what she’s done!

Forty years wasted, and the nerve to ask for them back.

Come, give me back my life again, you heavy-handed Death!Uncrook your fingers from my throat, and let me draw my breath.You do me wrong to take me now—too soon for me to die—Ah, loose me from this clutching pain, and hear the reason why.I know I’ve had my forty years, and wasted every one;And yet, I tell you honestly, my life is just begun;I’ve walked the world like one asleep, a dreamer in a trance;But now you’ve gripped me wide awake—I want another chance.

A city of lights, with nobody in it who knows your name.

Wide through the landscape dim the lamps are lit in millions;Long avenues unfold clear-shining lines of gold across the green;Clusters and rings of light, and luminous pavilions—Oh, who will tell the city’s name, and what these wonders mean?Why do they beckon me, and what have they to show me?Crowds in the blazing street, mirth where the feasters meet, kisses and wine:Many to laugh with me, but never one to know me:A cityful of stranger-hearts and none to beat with mine!

The shadow on the wall is not the thing that casts it.

How long is a life, dear God,And how fast does it flow?The measure of life is a flame in the soul:It is neither swift nor slow.But the vision of time is the shadow castBy the fleeting world on the body’s wall;When it fades there is neither future nor past,But love is all in all.

The one prayer that gets answered by being withdrawn.

With eager heart and will on fire,I strove to win my great desire.“Peace shall be mine,” I said; but lifeGrew bitter in the barren strife.My soul was weary, and my prideWas wounded deep; to Heaven I cried,“God grant me peace or I must die;”The dumb stars glittered no reply.Broken at last, I bowed my head,Forgetting all myself, and said,“Whatever comes, His will be done;”And in that moment peace was won.

In the oldest rules of hospitality, even a guest must leave.

The right of a guest endureth for a certain time,After three days and nights cometh the day of departure.Yet hearken to me since thou fearest to go in the dark:I will make with thee a new covenant of hospitality,Behold I will come unto thee as a stranger and be thy guest.

What it feels like to find one page of your own language abroad.

It seemed as if I had been reading a book in a foreign language,And suddenly I came upon a page written in the tongue of my childhood.This was the gentle heart of my friend who quietly understood me,The open and loving heart whose meaning was clear without a word.O thou great Companion who carest for all thy pilgrims and strangers,I thank thee heartily for the comfort of a comrade on the distant road.

What a house looks like after it stops arguing with the sea.

I love the weather-beaten, shingled houses that front the ocean;They seem to grow out of the rocks, there is something indomitable about them:Their backs are bowed, and their sides are covered with lichens;Soft in their colour as gray pearls, they are full of a patient courage.Facing the briny wind on a lonely shore they stand undaunted,While the thin blue pennant of smoke from the square-built chimneyTells of a haven for man, with room for a hearth and a cradle.